Chapter Text
The door to the house banged shut behind them. "You think she does it on purpose?" Hannibal Heyes shook his head.
"Does what?" asked his partner.
"Just once we're gonna ride into Blue Sky and find Ella at home. Just once. She's gotta spend less time at home than any woman alive."
Kid Curry laughed. "I think you have to get over wanting to surprise her, Heyes. Besides, it's Rick Johnson's birthday, right? Sandy said she went out to celebrate with him and a group of his friends. Why don't we go to the restaurant and find them?"
Heyes shrugged, still just a little annoyed. "We could do that. As long as I don't have to get back on that horse again."
"That goes without sayin'." The Kid grimaced at the thought. "Rachel's sure gettin' big, isn't she?"
"I think they're supposed to, Kid." Heyes smiled. "She kinda takes after me, don't she?"
"Well, she's got brown eyes . . . and she makes a lot of noise. Yeah, I guess she takes after you, Heyes." He winked.
"And she's awful smart for someone so little," added Heyes.
"That she gets from her mother," insisted the Kid, effectively ending the conversation.
But when they arrived at Austin's restaurant, the man at the door took one look at them in their travelworn trail clothes, and said, rather firmly, "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but you are not properly attired."
"We're looking for Rick Johnson's party," explained Heyes, with his most charming smile, the one that had gotten him around more seemingly insurmountable difficulties than this one. "There's someone we need to talk to."
The man was unmoved. "That's as may be, sir, but we still cannot let you in, dressed like that. If you'd like to leave a message for the gentleman --"
"Lady," Heyes corrected automatically. "They gonna be much longer?"
"No, sir, I expect they will be finished shortly. They're just being served their final course."
Heyes turned to his partner. "Let's stop by the saloon for a drink, and if they're not finished by the time we are, we can send her in a message, tell her we'll wait to walk her home."
The Kid shrugged, affably. "A drink sounds better than some fancy restaurant after all the riding we've been doing, anyway." Sitting up straight and using the right fork were not on his list of preferred activities at this given point in time, and at the saloon, he wouldn't have to do either.
They settled down at a quiet table not far from the entrance, with a couple of beers, and a sandwich for Kid Curry. A few of the townspeople whose acquaintance they'd made on previous visits greeted them, but they were tired and not in the mood for socializing, so they simply smiled and touched their hats, and said a few words about having just arrived back in town.
They'd been sitting there for awhile, drinking their beers slowly enough that they were still not quite ready for a refill when there was a disturbance at the door. A fairly large and relatively boisterous party had just entered. At first glance, the group appeared to consist entirely of middle-aged, rather well-dressed men, but Heyes almost called out in surprise when he saw a slender, blonde woman among them. They swept their way inside almost as if they owned the place. Actually, one of them did.
What was Ella doing here in the Blue Sky Saloon? Hadn't she told him that the only time she'd set foot in a saloon in her entire life was when she'd once tried to find him to clear up a misunderstanding? Even then, she'd just about stepped inside when she lost her nerve and fled, or so she said. And failure of nerve wasn't something for which Ella was particularly notable. It was just that women like her and saloons didn't really mix.
Kid Curry had opened his mouth to call his greetings, and was surprised to hear Heyes whisper, "Shhh, Kid. I want to find out what this is all about." Heyes pulled his hat low over his eyes, hoping she wouldn't spot him until he'd heard a little more.
Rick Johnson was arm-in-arm with Ella, and a stocky, greying, rather powerful-looking man was flanking her on her other side. Heyes knew this was Oliver Stanley, a local cattle baron and particular crony of Rick's. Ella's blue eyes were a little wider than normal. She seemed more like a damsel in distress than Heyes had ever seen her, and he'd seen her when she'd been in real trouble. Bringing up the rear were Mike Norris, the shadier of the two bankers in town, and Harry Blackwell, a businessman and co-owner of the saloon. Ella's law partner, Jeremy Chadwick, followed behind the rest of the group, looking a little uncomfortable, and extremely young, in that company.
"Dinner was lovely," Ella was protesting, "but this is no place for me. I'll be saying goodnight now, Rick."
"Now hold on just a minute," said Rick. "It's my celebration, and I want you here. Besides, now that you're a married woman, it's safe to assume you know the ways of the world. We don't need to shelter you anymore, like we did when you were a maiden lady. Isn't that right, Stan?"
"Absolutely, Rick. And Ella's always complaining that we run a kind of men's club here in the saloon, and a lot of business deals get made while we're here that she gets left out of."
"So tonight we're gonna make you a member of our men's club, Ella," said Rick with a grin. "Initiate you into the fraternity, so to speak."
Ella turned around and looked at Jeremy. "You're not going to help me out of this one, are you?"
"Now, Ella," said Jeremy, "it's Rick's birthday, and you know that you promised."
She sighed loudly enough that Heyes could hear it, and he wasn't exactly sitting next to her. "All right. I give in. Happy birthday, Rick. So this is the saloon. Nice place you have here, Harry." She looked around for the first time, but she didn't seem to see Heyes and Curry. At least, if she had, she would have shown a sign of recognition, Heyes figured. Although . . . it was clear she was uncomfortable, but also that she was playacting a bit, as she and Rick had the habit of doing with each other in court . . . and most of the rest of the time, too.
The group swept on to a large table in the back.
Heyes whispered to Curry, "Let's move over behind that pillar, where they won't be able to see us, but we can hear them."
"Ain't you gonna rescue her, Heyes?" Kid Curry had more of a tendency towards going to the relief of distressed ladies than his ever-practical partner did.
"Oh, come on, Kid. You know Ella can take care of herself. Besides, I bet she's having fun, for all her protests. These are her friends -- at least some of them are. I guess she's never really had a good word for Oliver Stanley. But Jeremy's with her." Jeremy was more than a little protective of Ella, himself. "And I want to see how she handles the other side of life. It's just a saloon, after all. We know there's nothin' going on in here she has to worry about, right?"
As they moved towards the back of the room, Heyes felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see a vaguely familiar face. "You're Heyes, ain't you? You're the one that married Miss Ella, right?"
He nodded, and placed the face as belonging to Paul Dixon, who kept the dry goods shop in town.
"You gonna go and rescue her from old Rick and his birthday festivities?" Dixon asked.
Heyes smiled. "I don't know. She don't know I'm here yet, and I thought I'd like to see how she handles it herself. I'll rescue her if she needs rescuing." He winked at the man, and tried not to notice that his partner was looking at him a little dubiously.
Dixon smiled back. "Mind if I join you? I always like to watch those two when they get going -- her and Rick, that is. Kind of a local spectator sport, if you know what I mean."
"Suit yourself," said Heyes. "Just keep your voice down. I don't want her to know we're here, just yet."
They made their way to a quiet table, within earshot and with a partial view of where Rick's birthday party had settled. Ella was seated across from Rick and with her back to them. The first thing they heard was, "Now, Ella, if you're going to be a member of our club, you've got to follow the rules. And the first rule is, when you're asked to toast someone, you toast them."
"I toasted Rick's birthday back at Austin's."
Rick broke in. "That was wine, Ella. This is the men's club, and we don't drink ladies' drinks, here. Real men drink each other's health with whiskey. And tonight, you're an honorary real man."
Mike Norris said, judiciously. "We'll let you off on smoking the cigar, won't we, boys?"
"Aww," said Oliver Stanley. "I don't know. That's a real breach of the rules."
"Kinda unmanly," added Blackwell.
"No cigar for Ella," decided Rick, "but she drinks my health with whiskey, same as the rest of us."
A glass of whiskey was set in front of her by Harry Blackwell, who was pouring from the first of the bottles that lined the table. "A toast," he said. "Rick Johnson, long may he live to trouble us all!"
"Rick!" "Hear, hear!" came the voices around the table. And the six people around the table raised their glasses, clinked them together, and then drained them at a gulp. All except for Ella, that is, who took several gulps to finish, and immediately began coughing and calling for water.
"Water!" said Stanley. "What kind of a request is that?"
But Jeremy put his foot down at that. "Come on, Stan. That's probably the first drink of whiskey she's ever had in her life. Isn't it, Ella?"
Ella, still coughing, nodded vigorously, and Blackwell called over a saloon girl, who disappeared and quickly returned with a glass of water. After she'd drunk it, Ella spoke. "By the way, Rick, I never said it was a men's club. The phrase I used was boys' club."
Heyes turned to his partner and smiled. "See? They haven't gotten the better of her. And they won't," he whispered. "You just watch."
But Kid Curry's eyes were far away. He was thinking about another boys' club, the boys' club that was the Devil's Hole Gang. He could remember two times when there had been women in the hideout at Devil's Hole. The second time, he hadn't been there, but Heyes had brought the woman there himself -- Mrs. Clara Phillips, a lovely young widow who had proceeded to steal the heart of Big Jim Santana. But the first time, back when Heyes and he were still running things, before the long struggle for the amnesty that they'd finally achieved -- the time that the rule about no women being allowed there got made -- Curry could still recall that one vividly.